We're All Dying
by potatoes-are-not-for-sex
Summary: It's July 1st 1916 in Somme, and the troops are restless. They've been bombing the Germans for eight days now and tomorrow, they're going over the top. Neither Phil nor Dan really understood what signing up for a war really meant until now. One-shot Phan story.


_Throw it all away_  
><em>Let's lose ourselves<br>Cause there's no one left for us to blame_  
><em>It's a shame,<br>__We're all dying.._

"Hey you," Dan murmurs fondly, leaning back against the wall next to where Phil is propped. Phil greets him with a preoccupied smile, blinking a few times before he seems to realise that it's Dan.

"Hello! Aren't you on watch tonight?" Phil yawns widely, gladly accepting a mug of tea from Dan and sipping tentatively at the metal edge. It's been weeks since he's had a tea hot enough to even consider burning himself on, but some habits are hard to change.

Dan swigs down the last of his own tea, tossing the mug down and folding his hands into his armpits. "I swapped with PJ, said I'll give him my picture of Irene Castle by the beach." Phil frowns, about to ask something, but Dan anticipates him with a chuckle, "Of course, poor PJ has no idea that my picture of Irene actually belongs to my little brother, and unless someone is making an overnight trip across the channel, it might be a while till he gets the picture." He shrugs, "Hey, when we get back I _will_ give it to him! But until then, the night is ours."

Dan shuffles in to lean next to Phil, who's attempting to shake his head in disapproval, but ruining the affect entirely with a small, adoring smile. It's a grey and bleak night overhead, their clothes were beyond the point of needing a wash weeks ago and Phil could have sworn that his hair has congealed into a singular clump, but when Dan's beside him, everything is pranks and funny stories and it instantly makes him feel like nothing has changed at all.

"Here," His eyes never leaving Dan's, Phil unbuttons his outer coat and reaches deep into a pocket. "I think it might be time." Dan's doesn't say anything, but his eyes widen just a little as Phil fishes around and finally pulls out a small bar covered in brown paper wrapping.

"Are you seriously?" Dan whispers, reaching across and shoving Phil's hand back into the pocket, looking around as if terrified that someone might see it, "We haven't had chocolate for at least five months now, where did you find that?" He might be impressed and rather surprised, but his tone is angry. Phil sighs and zips up his coat again against the chill of night.

"I didn't find it." He shoves his hands into his pockets, turning his head to gaze up at Dan, who is still waiting for an answer. He knows that Dan doesn't like to talk about home when they are alone, but all Phil can think is about how there was a time when those brown eyes were always warm and his face untarnished by the harsh conditions and sleepless nights. But Phil knows better than to voice these thoughts, so instead replies to the question.

"Remember that day when they brought over all the stuff from the battalion just south of us?"

Dan nods, of course he does. It's one thing to hear that hundreds of your fellow soldiers have been gunned down, left strewn across the battlefields; playthings for the German troops; but to then their food, blankets and other belongings arrived on trucks. They were told to be grateful, and there is no denying that they were all in need of extra warmth, fresh socks, new brushes; personal supplies were not a priority in war. However, every time Dan pulled on the warm jacket that was currently hanging around his shoulders, he always felt the shadow of Alex Harriott (the name was lovingly stitched into the collar- by a mother? a girlfriend perhaps) sitting heavily across his back.

Phil smiles a little, small teeth peeking through.

"I didn't want to say anything at the time, because you know how Chris is when chocolate is nearby, but it was in the pocket when I picked up the jacket." He pulls out the bar again, sheltering the precious commodity between their bodies, flipping it over in his hand to show Dan the three words scrawled onto the back- 'for the end'.

"I'm not sure if he meant the end of the war, or the end-" Phil's sentence dies somewhere in his throat, so he just finishes it with a shrug. Neither of them particularly want to dwell on how this bar ended up in their possession unopened.

Unknown to Dan, Phil's been toying with this bar for a few days now, flipping it over in his hands in the dwindling moonlight. They were told a week ago of the plans: one week of solid fire on the German front lines and then they would advance over the top, every able man and his gun. They were told it was going to be one of the greatest victories of the British Kitchener's Army, but there were whispers amongst the men as the days drew on. No one was ever excited to go over the top, and with good reason.

But Phil says none of this, and there's silence for a long while.

"Well, it would be a pity for it to melt in my pocket," he eventually reasons, "And what if it falls out during a morning meet? It could be lost in the muck, or even worse, someone else might eat it!"

Dan snorts. "Because that is literally the worst thing that could happen, right?" He shakes his head, taking the bar from Phil and turning it over in his hands, the writing teasing him the dim light.

It's not fair, none of this is, but there's no point in saying that aloud. If they were back home, in their place, and Phil was looking as despondent as he does right now, Dan would have pulled him safe beneath the covers of their bed and held him until he felt safe, or at least felt loved. But tonight he has to resolve to stand by his side, right next to him, and not say a word.

"Do you think we're going to be okay?" Phil tries to stop his voice from trembling on the last word- unsuccessfully. Dan gives in, stowing away the chocolate bar, his arm curling around Phil's shoulder and pulling him closer. Who cares if someone else sees them?

"Of course we are," He replies, "We've got to be okay so we can get back home and get a cat like you've always wanted, right?" He smiles, even if Phil can't see it, hoping that it might at least make him believe himself.

Phil shuffles a little closer. "You don't have to lie to me," He mutters, his head falling onto Dan's shoulder. "This whole thing is a terrible idea."

"I'm not lying," Dan lies, biting his lip. "We don't know how its going to go, I think we can make this attack and maybe they'll say that we've done enough on the front and at least deserve a short break home." The memories of home wash over his mind; London and their favourite movie theatre, strolling down the banks of the Thames, hands only an inch apart-

"You'll actually let me get a cat? I thought you said they were tiny devils." Phil's voice sounds a little more relaxed than before.

"Sure we can. We can even get a black one if you want." Dan's voice is a little choked, but Phil doesn't appear to notice, only mumbling in reply, "Well, they are the cutest ones."

Phil's head suddenly lifts up again, looking side to side to check if anyone is nearby, or watching. Then, with a cautious blink, he raises his lips up to meet Dan's, softly and slowly. It's achingly warm and familiar, and Dan kisses him back with earnest. They part a moment later, matching blushes and grins mostly hidden in the night.

"Get some rest," Phil unwinds Dan's arm and pulls him in to rest on his own shoulder. Dan breathes in deeply and, despite the grime and stench of the trenches, he can still smell _home_, and falls asleep listening to Phil's slow, deep breaths blowing across his cheek.

It's PJ who wakes them in the morning, with firm hands grasping their shoulders; bringing them out of the warmth and silence of dreams, and back to the frosty, muddy reality of dawn. If he is bothered by their current position, legs and arms entangled, heads nestled together, and he sees no need to comment. Clearing his throat in a disruption of mist, he manages to croak out-

"We're gathering now. Hart has the equipment allocations, find her first then take to your post, I'll see you there." He smiles wanly just above their faces, his eyes darting to the edge of the trench, taking in the crumbling dirt, the entire construction almost ready to cave in on itself. And then, he's gone.

Stretching and standing up properly, neither Phil nor Dan says a word as they make their way to meet the others, standing to attention and receiving their loads for the mission. Corporal Hart travels down the line, checking guns and ammunition, and occasionally handing out extra packs- one of which is handed to Phil. Dan's hand twitches as the heavy bag is passed over, but a glare from Phil stops him speaking out.

"It's not fair, how can you look after yourself lugging that around," He whispers between clenched teeth, as Hart travels down the row, "This is ridiculous, just give it to me once they're far enough away."

"No." Phil hisses back, "I got allocated, that's too bad. But you're not taking it." He turns his head ever so slightly, catching Dan's gaze. "You'll just have to watch out for me."

Dan is disgruntled, but the argument is left there. They gather on the edge of the trench, PJ and Chris wearily joining their side.

"Lovely morning for a short trip." Chris mutters, "What a pity they forgot to book us a return ticket!" PJ smacks him across the back of the head, which is standard for their usual communication style of banter and fistfights, but neither boy is smiling.

The wait till now had been slow and tortuous, but it seems only moments later that the signal is called and, gripping tightly to their packs and guns, they advance over the top of the crumbling trench. Thick mist greets them, spreading out across the plain, utterly immutable.

As per instructions, they advance forward without restraint, hoping to catch their enemy unaware before their morning call. So far so good; there's no gunfire, no signs of any soldiers anywhere. Phil looks across at Dan, walking slowly beside him.

"Looks like they were right after all," He mutters, altering his path slightly, colliding slightly with Dan as he goes.

"That would be a miracle," Dan chuckles in reply, eyes trained on the horizon, "Wait, hold up-" As they take a few more steps forward, the mist clears slightly to elucidate a messy, barbed wire fence blocking their path. Dan curses.

"Not so much a surprise then, I wonder…" Looking along the fence, it's impossible to see where it ends. "We were meant to go straight forward, but maybe it would be better to go around."

Phil frowns, "But how far? We could just cut through."

"You know, maybe we're just unlucky, maybe this is the one place that the advance is going to fail and we should really just head back and- _ow._" His comments earning him another slap across the head, PJ pulls his back off and starts rummaging for wire-cutters.

"Let's cut it." It's not a question.

Dan and Phil watch in either direction, but there's only glimpses of shadows, and it's too dangerous to call out. Behind them, PJ kneels by the fence, wire held in place by Chris, who has his head leaning on his partner's shoulder.

"You sure we can't go back?" He whispers. PJ shakes his head and Chris falls silent, watching PJ's clever hands working at the wire, snapping through the individual strands with skill.

In the distance, there's a sudden smatter of gunfire. They all fall flat to the ground, despite the echoes remaining far in the distance.

Dan crawls back towards where PJ and Chris are, Phil following suit. "Definitely not a surprise then." He comments, once they are all gathered. No one replies.

Eventually, silence reigns once more, leaving the boys flush in the mud, unsure whether it was enemy fire, or friendly; or both. Their orders had seemed so simple- over the top, across No Mans Land and into the trenches- someone had clearly miscalculated _something_.

"I have to keep going." PJ decides, pulling out the wire-cutters again and recommencing his attack on the wires.

"Hey," Whispers Phil, "You okay?"

Dan nods. Then, to Phil's surprise, he smiles.

"You are literally covered in mud! How is it so impossible for an inch of your skin to stay clean?" Phil smiles back at him, trying to wipe off some of the mud, but only succeeding in smearing it more across his forehead, widening Dan's smile even more.

"Almost got it..." PJ mutters, working the cutters as best he can from his awkward angle, lying flat on the mud. He gives a low groan of frustration. "Fuck it."

"PJ, don't you dare!" Chris whispers from just behind him, reaching out to grab at PJ's ankle, but he's just out of reach. PJ ignores his efforts and moves to kneel beside the wire, ducking his head a little and attacking the wire furiously. They can all hear his harried breathing too loudly in the stillness, but no one dares to move. He manages to break through several wires, one then two more, in complete, fascinated silent observation from his friends, until Chris finally breaks the tension, shifting forwards to join PJ on his knees.

"You're an idiot, you know?" He whispers, so quietly that only PJ can make out the words. He simply smiles in response, but then realises that Chris mostly likely cannot make out his facial expression, his skin caked in mud and grime. With a cautious breath in, his wire-cutters close around the last wire, severing it with a resounding snap. It's so simple yet immensely satisfying, and for the first time in a very long while, PJ feels like he has contributed to this endless war.

He turns to face Chris, shuffling on his knees with s smile wide across his cheeks. Chris rolls his eyes, but can't deny him a smile in return.

"Easy as pie." PJ retorts, cocking his head to the side, "You boys would be lost without me!"

Dan and Phil exchange a silent look from where they lie, still pressed up against the mud and Chris rolls his eyes. But his hand grasps PJ's shoulder affectionately, resting there a moment longer than would be expected. For all his jokes and frivolity, Chris understood the importance of contact more than most.

A shock of gunfire startles them from their moment, close and loud, cutting sharply through the air, for just a moment. Chris drops to the ground, pulling PJ down with him, his breath catching in his chest, heart pounding. His eyes are screwed shut, as if something so simple might somehow help them hide away from the ruthless bullets.

The silence returns in dying echoes.

The first thing Phil hears is Chris' whispered, 'No..' and looks up in time to watch him sit up, pulling PJ's head into his lap. There's too much blood for anything but the embrace of his touch, as PJ gurgles at attempt at words, his eyes darting from side to side frantically, shining and green against the murky darkness. It only lasts for a moment; the panic, before his mouth falls slack and his eyes come to a unseeing halt.

"No!" Chris lets out a broken sob, doubling over and wrapping his arms awkwardly around PJ's body. His head turns, eyes blazing in their direction, blame tangled up with guilt, and it's only now that Phil notices there's blood gushing from a wound above his eye.

He hurries over as quickly as he can, pressing a hand firmly to the wound, but Chris is making no protest, lying passively beneath his hold giving short, sharp breaths. The blood is wet and warm between his fingers, bleeding too fast. Phil looks over to Dan, who's moved up behind him.

"There's some bandage in the side of my bag," He states, slowly, suppressing the rising nausea as he repositions his sliding hand over the wound. "Quickly!"

Dan scrambles to find the medical pack, both of them trying to stay low in case of a renewed attack. He manages to pull out the bandage, unwrapping the first few lengths and passing it to Phil. Neither of them trained as medics, but compression seems like their best chance.

They wind the bandage around his head, blood quickly seeping through to stain the white fabric. Fastening the ends with a tie, Phil sits back onto his heels, finding Dan's solid form beside him and leaning into it. Neither of them says a word. It's hard to be sure if Chris had already stopped breathing before they started tying the bandage. His face is pale, frozen forever in a contortion of pain.

"We should keep going," Dan's voice is low and raw, and Phil nods. He reaches over, closing Chris' eyes one last time, before turning his back on both of them.

There's only one way for them to go, pulling their sleeves up and over their hands to push the wires out of the way safely. Phil can hear Dan shuffling behind him, both of them staying low, the echoes of gunfire sounding intermittently from either side, but none close to them. In the heavy mist it's impossible to be sure if they are alone, or if there are soldiers meters away, either friend or enemy. Even if the sound of Dan's crawling and his harried breathing sends his nerves sparking, it is some, guileless comfort.

"Remember that time we snuck out your window?" He whispers. At first there is no response, so he continues, "Your mother wouldn't let us go watch the meteor shower but we went anyway-" There's a chuckle from behind him, as Dan apparently catches up with Phil's train of thought.

"And we made it all the way to the park, only to realise it was still too early, so we got ice-cream instead!" His voice is low, but Phil can almost hear the smile in Dan's tone. "And then when we snuck back in, you had that stain on your top and-" He cuts off at Phil's quiet snort of laughter. They return to silence, making slow progress crawling forward, but now each boy carries a sly smile.

A few moments later, Phil stops, waiting for Dan to reach his side. He nudges Dan's shoulder and points out a dark gash just visible through the mist.

"Look, do you see it?" Dan follows Phil's pointing finger, squinting at where he's directing. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but he manages to make out what appears to be a machine gun, extending just out of a trench. With no need to communicate any more than that, they sit very still, waiting for proof.

The seconds pass like an eternity as they stay there, barely breathing, out in the barren expanse and sitting ducks for any German who passes their way. There's a pain scream that comes from somewhere south to where they crouch, but they don't move. And, eventually, the wait is worth it. Prompted by some unseen target, probably some of their fellow soldiers and friends, the machine gun bursts into activity, firing in drones across the plane.

"Well," says Dan, "There's something." Clearly, their attack was not as much a surprise as they had hoped it to be. Either that, or they had a machine gunner attending the front line at all times. Neither are enticing possibilities.

"If we can get a bit closer, maybe we could take him out, really make it count." whispers Phil, frowning as the silence falls again and the shots fade away.

"How? They'll run us through before we can get anywhere close enough to make a different." Dan sighs. They can't turn back now, they don't even know if there's a safe path back to their trenches. Even if they are anticipated, the plan of attack still holds. Dan doesn't want to say it out loud, but a small part of him wonders what would happen if they tried. They'd have to go past PJ and Chris, and the thought of it turns his stomach, but more importantly, he knows that Phil would never be such a coward.

Phil pulls his pack to the ground, searching swiftly before pulling out a familiar metal shape.

Dan's breath is a low hiss.

"I didn't know they were giving us grenades." His tone is cold, but Phil just shrugs, grabbing a pair of wire-cutters as well, before pulling the pack onto his back.

"They didn't." He replies, simply. Dan wishes Phil would stop sounding so old.

They move forward slowly, managing safely before they reach the next barbed wire obstacle. Phil starts working on the wires and Dan watches silently from behind, his stomach turning at the familiar sight. Phil's hands are trembling as they work away at the curled silver; slowly, surely, working his way through to the other side. When a stutter of shooting erupts again, they both fall flat to the ground, but this time, the bullets are directed at someone else.

"This isn't going to work if they shoot us dead before we're even close enough to see them properly," mutters Dan, running an exasperated hand through his mangled hair, "We need a different strategy."

"What? No it's fine- Dan?" Phil has to bite his lip not to call out louder as Dan scrambles to his feet, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Making a distraction." His tone is decided. "Make it worthwhile."

He's gone before Phil can argue, handgun extended and shooting into the mist with little regard. Phil mutters a dozen swear words, but sets to task, hacking into the barbed wire with increased fervour. The sweat is dripping down his forehead

Carefully watching the ground as he places one foot in front of the other, Dan fires in every direction that is not back towards Phil. He's not even sure if there's anyone there to shoot, but his mission is singular and, as someone fires back at him, he appears to be having some success. Ducking when he hears the shots and firing again as soon as they are silent, Dan makes his way forward.

It's a few bouts of fire later that he decides to look back, checking to make sure he can still see Phil. His black hair bobs a little as he furiously attacks the barbed wire, and Dan is relieved to see that he appears to be nearly done.

The moment of distraction was mistake enough.

The bullet rips into his right arm and it spasms, his gun clattering to the earth and Dan falling down after it, biting his lip to stay silent and grabbing at the wound on his forearm with his left hand. It hurts like nothing he'd felt before. Closing his eyes and taking several purposefully slow breaths; he hasn't got time for this. He glances over at Phil and picks up the weapon with his left hand.

The aim is off, but he wasn't using that anyway, and he recommences his blind, intermittent attacks. He gets three shots out before there is return fire and he crouches down, his right hand hanging limply by his side. Glancing back at Phil, he sees two arms waving frantically in his direction and makes his way back as quickly as he can.

Phil's eyes immediately dart to Dan's bleeding arm. He pulls a second bandage from his pack, silently winding it around the wound, fury marring his pale brow. He's efficient; it's only seconds later that the ends are tucked in and he's packing the bag again, fingers closing even more firmly around the grenade.

"I'm sorry, I know you didn't want me to, but I had to and I swear it's fine, please don't be angry." Dan ducks his face away from Phil's questioning gaze, who realises that he had still to say anything. He cups Dan's cheek, forcing his chin upwards, and gives a small, firm smile.

"You're not the one I'm angry at, okay?" He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together for a brief moment. "I'm just glad you're okay." He doesn't add what he's thinking to the end of that sentence- for now.

With a nod, Dan gestures for Phil to go first through the wire. Phil makes his way forwards, tentatively eyeing off their target. There appears to be no other obstacles in their path, but it's hard to see how far away the trench is. He lies himself flat on the ground and is pleased to see Dan copying him.

"It will take longer, but we are harder to spot this way." Dan gives him two thumbs up in agreement, his face straining as he does, and Phil chuckles. Dan might be the only one still up for pulling silly faces by this point. They make their way forwards slowly, pulling their bodies over stones and avoiding scraps of metal and other hazards. The German front grows steadily closer and closer, and Phil grips the grenade tighter still in his hand. There has to be some point to this, some purpose they are serving. He thinks of PJ and Chris; would anyone find their bodies? The thought of them left, a tangle of dead limbs, is too awful, so instead he lets his eyes fall to Dan. He is struggling with his wounded arm and doing his best not to show any pain - but Phil could always tell. Dan would prefer that he wasn't holding them back, so Phil doesn't mention it, but his heart aches.

It's out of boredom rather than anything else that Phil eventually glances upwards. The grey sky is monstrous and it looks like more rain is coming soon from the east, but then he spots something hurtling through the air. It's flying high, but he's not optimistic enough to hope for a bird. The object has only just begun to fall downwards, heading in their direction, when Phil comes to his senses and, not caring for being heard, calls out-

"Dan, watch out!"

Impact comes with a sonorous blast, the earth splitting where they lie and sending both boys flying through the air, with sweeping clouds of dust and debris following behind. A thunderous reverberation remains long after the original explosion has faded, rattling Dan's head as he tries to reclaim air into his lungs. As soon as he can breathe, he struggles to his feet.

Everything hurts.

Dan swears as silently as he can, one eye and his entire chest searing with pain. He ducks down again, breathing heavily, trying to focus on the heavy rush of his breath and not the ceaseless gunfire and cries floating through the fog. The adrenaline focuses his mind to the facts: he can still see from one of his eyes, he can still use both his legs and arms and his heart is still beating furiously in his chest. Acutely aware that shrapnel means bomb, Dan concludes that the stabbing pains all over are probably pieces embedded in his skin and muscle. The clarity of his thought is bizarre, but he's okay and that's good enough for now.

"Phil?" He whispers as loudly as he can, good eye straining into the mist to make out a figure curled on the dirt less than ten meters away from him. There's no reply.

Pain forgotten, Dan scrambles over to the body, not allowing himself to question what he might find. It's definitely Phil, black hair and pale skin distinct even in this muck, and his heart lurches into his throat when he clearly sees a mess of blood on the ground beneath him. His good hand finds Phil's arm and grab tightly, causing his eyes to startle open, a rattling gasp escaping his lips. Dan kneels beside him, pressing his hand to Phil's cheek, making soft soothing noises until his breathing calms and he can keep his gaze steady to match Dan's. One of Phil's hands shakily attempts to move and Dan's eyes follow its path, lurching down to Phil's abdomen, where the small pool of blood is seeping through the green and mud of his uniform.

"That bad is it?" The words croak in a poor imitation of Phil's voice. "It can't be too bad-" His breath hitches and his own tears water in eyes, leaving the sentence unfinished with a bite of his lower lip. Dan shakes his head, ignoring the hot tears that have started forming and forces a small smile.

"Nothing to worry about, okay?" He brings his lips down to Phil's forehead, pressing them there for a long moment, savouring the warmth of his skin, the smell of his hair. He's so hot, so alive and it seems impossible for him to be anything else. When he leans back up again, both their faces are completely wet with tears, but neither mentions it.

"You have to aim well." Phil manages to whisper, pressing one of his grenades against Dan's forearm. He takes with a silent nod, his other hand still on Phil's face. "You have to," Phil insists, coughing, "It's so hard to see in this mist." Dan watches as his eyes struggle to stay open and nods again.

"I'll aim well, I promise." His voice shakes a little as he clutches the metal until it digs into his palm, his fingers pressing with similar urgency into the bones of Phil's face. "I love you Phil, I love you." He leans down, pressing his lips onto Phil's quickly and decisively, catching Phil's returned whisper somewhere between their mouths, and lingering in that breath as long as he can.

When he pulls away, Phil's eyes are glassy, empty- and his body is slack beneath Dan. With a sob, Dan closes his clear blue eyes and folds his arms over his bloodied chest. It seems pointless, but the right thing to do. Death has been around him for a while now, but it had never seemed so absolute, so completely unsurpassable until this moment. Nor had it ever seemed so kind.

Wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve, Dan rakes his eyes over Phil's form one last time, taking in every inch, hungry for the sight of him. He remembers way he clambered lankily to the sign up desk, scrawling his name just under Dan's, his scrawny legs only just pulling him through basic training, the way his eyes lit up when they watched the stars together, enjoying moments of silence together, the way he trembled in his arms last night as they dreamt together. He remembers the way Phil's lips felt, full and warm, patient and ravenous all at once, the way his waist fit perfectly between Dan's arms and the sense of completion when they were pressed together from head to toe. It was the closest thing to perfection that Dan could ever hope to feel.

The world around him seems oddly still as Dan gets to his feet, pulling the trigger on the grenade and squinting at the nearby trench. With one hand he aims and the other throws. Somehow, his aim is true and the metal ball flies in an arch across the distance, landing in the darker patch of earth. He only has to wait a moment before it explodes, sending debris and dirt flying skyward, a macabre fountain of his creation. Through the thick mist, he can still make out the screams and cries of his foes, somehow less satisfying than he imagined them to be.

A moment later and there's a rain of pressure on his chest and the peppering of bullets sound in his ear and it takes a moment before he connects the two, but by that time his knees have already given way. This time the pain is sublimely overwhelming and he can barely feel Phil's lifeless legs jutting awkwardly underneath him, nor can he properly sense the wetness of the blood dripping down his arms, his hands as they mindlessly scrabble his across his body, dipping into ravaged skin. One hand manages to involuntarily grab hold of something- a small chocolate bar that's slipped from his pocket. His fingers have no strength, however, and it slips down into the mud. A breath slips out and then the pain, too, is gone.

_It's a shame we're all dying_  
><em>And do you think you deserve your freedom<em>

_How could you send us_  
><em>So far away from home<em>  
><em>When you know damn well that this is wrong<br>I will still lay down my life for you_

_And do you think you deserve your freedom _  
><em>No I don't think you do <em>  
><em>There's no justice in the world-<em>

_There's no justice in the world _  
><em>And there never was<em>

_ - Muse, 2006_

* * *

><p><em>Hope you enjoyed that, erm, sorry about the ending :P Please let me know what you think or if you want more historical AUs! (because I very much love them) The inspiration for this oneshot was 'Soldier's Poem' by Muse, which you should go listen to straight away, and pop on 'Resistance' and 'Endlessly' while you're there to triple your sad feels :D <em>

_Much love, thank you for reading and see you soon!_

_xx panfs_


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